Echo
by Dfsemina
Summary: Follows the Forgotten Portrait ending. Ib doesn't remember but that doesn't mean the feelings didn't linger. She visits the gallery often and one night as she stays after hours the lights go out. She finds herself in a setting her body, her reflexes, and her subconscious seem to remember even though she doesn't.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first real attempt at a multi-chapter story. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1

Ib has been wasting all her allowance and lunch money for the last three months.

She didn't know why.

She did, however, know what she needed it for.

Every single day without fail she would come back to this place, whether it was after school or some time she was able to steal away for herself.

She never forgot to go. Sometimes she was only able to stay a few minutes. But she always stayed for as long as she could. Once, she was able to get in as soon as it opened and she stayed until they announced that it was closing. There was something undeniably important about the little gallery but she didn't know what.

She handed the man at the counter the money for admission and accepted her ticket. As she walked passed the counter, she shivered. The now familiar feelings of dread and longing welled up within her, as they always did when she entered the gallery. She was sure that the beginning of her first visit was not tainted by these feelings. She was equally sure that initial visit had caused her reason to have these feelings. But her whole first visit there was a blurry, barely there memory.

There were certain works that called to her more strongly than the rest. _Abyss of the Deep_ always managed to catch her eye. She stared at it. She always felt like if she just had the courage to go over or under the fence surrounding it, she would be able to touch it and it would be wet like real water. Though she felt like even jumping into the water of the painting wouldn't make her wet even as it chilled and soaked her to the bone. She walked on.

She stood in front of _Embodiment of the Spirit. _It was so lifelike. Its petals looked delicate and the stem looked like it would snap even with all the pointy thorns. As usual, she felt tears well up in her eyes as they fell upon the petals on the floor. The idea of the petals falling off the the vibrant rose brought forth an image of death. It was an image she should not have been so familiar with. An image of choking for breath and gasping in agony as petals fell off a rose. Sometimes the rose she pictured within her head was bright red and others it was a deep blue. Both images brought tears to her eyes but the thought of the blue rose dying always rendered her unable to do anything but break down and sob as feelings of regret, guilt, and gratefulness flooded through her. Hiccuping and roughly wiping tears from her eyes, she walked on.

Her tears had subsided by the time she drew near the painting _Lady in Red_. She knew wasn't supposed to but she always ran past this one. It made her uncomfortable. Being around it made her antsy. However, the feeling of discomfort paled in comparison to the choking fear that overcame her whenever she tiptoed her way around the sculpture _Death of the Individual_. The three headless statues were so large compared to her. She just knew they were heavy and their grip would be like steel and just as unbreakable. They were definitely more of a threat than the _Lady in Red_, _Blue, Green, _and _Yellow _who she somehow knew only had sharp nails and that could cut skin and hands that could grip firmly but still, not as inescapable.

There were times that she neglected to visit all of the creations in the gallery, but this next one she visited each time with no exception. _The Forgotten Portrait_. The man in the portrait held a single blue rose, vines all around him framing the image. His eyes were closed as he slumbered. But he wasn't sleeping, she knew. She initially thought he was, though her first time seeing the image was unclear in her memory. The bits and pieces of the memory she could grasp were impossible. They would suggest she had seen this man in person but he was just a painting. Guertena didn't paint real people after all. But she was sure he had a name. The name always eluded her, however. She was sure that the man was dead. Though the rose was depicted in the painting as blooming with life, she was sure that somewhere there was a blue rose accountable for his condition, dying and bare, blue petals slowly browning where they had been plucked off the rose.

She lightly brushed the lighter in her skirt pocket with her thumb. She remembered she had found it in her pocket after they had left the gallery that first time. She knew she shouldn't have it. It wasn't hers. Children weren't supposed to touch dangerous items like the lighter. She remembered her father scolding her one birthday when she had fiddled with the lighter her father had used to light up the birthday candles. But having it with her made her feel safe. The cold metal warming beneath her hand and the unmistakable weight in her pocket assuring her it was really truly there put her mind at ease. She felt like she needed it and trusted her instincts, keeping it on hand. She was sure it had saved her once—her eyes were suddenly overflowing with tears again—but she was sure it had failed someone else.

She would break down again if she stayed there. She bit her lip and forced her legs to move away. She walked aimlessly, focusing solely on getting away, on putting one foot in front of the other until she finally calmed down. She had stopped in front of another painting that held significance. It was huge, taking up a whole hallway all on its own. Its size made it intimidating, though not as much as the slightly smaller _Abyss of the Deep_ with its monster. Her fingers gently brushed over the letters etched into the white stone plaque: _Fabricated World_. Standing in front of this painting she always felt like everything had started, come full circle and ended while she had missed some vital parts. She needed to do something or something needed to change here but she had no idea what.

"Attention, guests. The gallery will be closing in 10 minutes. Please make your way out of the gallery at this time. The gallery will open at 10:00 AM tomorrow. Have a good night and thank you for visiting."

She watched people as they walked by her, heading toward the exit. She glanced down the hallway, she could see the transparent glass entryway into the back room of the gallery. She knew the routine by now. The lights would turn off in one room at a time. The furthest from the entrance first, gradually making its way until all the lights were off. She had seen it through the windows a couple times as she lingered outside the gallery before walking home for the night. The lights flicked in the back room before finally going off. She blinked, feeling surprised. This was the normal routine, but it felt so different watching it from the inside. The lights flickered above her and she looked around worriedly. Then the lights went off. Something was wrong. And the feeling was familiar.

* * *

She had walked around the whole gallery and hadn't seen a soul. It wasn't likely for her to see many for sure, as it was after closing but she should have seen a security guard by now. She had seen them previous nights after the gallery closed, walking around the with their bright flashlights. Somehow she was sure there were none to be found. She kept walking, faster now, passing painting after painting before reaching the entrance and finding it locked. She walked briskly around the gallery, hoping it was pure coincidence she had yet to run into a guard. She found her heart leaping into her throat once in each room she passed, seeing or hearing things. She was sure she heard cough in the room with _The Coughing Man _and the_ Embodiment of Spirit_. She could have sworn she heard a cat in the room with the painting _Your Dark Figure._ She shook her head to dispel the thoughts. They weren't possible. But then she watched as a fruit fell out of the painting _Bitter Fruit_ and knew she couldn't possibly be dreaming. She continued walking.

Eventually, she found herself in front of the _Fabricated World_ again. She noticed blue paint dripping from it and walked up to it to get a better look. Before her eyes, paint seeped into the wall disappearing until the remaining paint formed words. _**Come down below, I'll show you someplace good. **_She stepped back in fright and as she turned her attention back to the room she noticed red paint splattered across the floor. _**Let's play some more, Ib!**_ She knew that whoever was calling her meant to encourage her to the painting _Abyss of the Deep_. It was directly where she was standing now, only on the floor below.

Taking in a shaky breath to steady her nerves, she made her way toward the painting. As she reached the top of the stairs she noticed something. There was a blank painting that she'd passed. She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She ran up to it and read the plaque, though she knew what was supposed to be in that spot. The _Forgotten Portrait _was blank. Worry blossomed within her and she hurried down the stairs and ran into the room with the dark blue-toned painting. A part of the surrounding fence had disappeared. There were blue paint foot steps leading into the painting.

Ib walked up to the painting and took a deep breath before jumping in. As the water flowed around and through her roaring in her ears a single thought rang determinedly in her head as it filled in the name she hadn't been able to remember before.

'_I'll find you, Garry.'_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Well friendlies, here's the second chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

Chapter 2

Within the toybox, a rag doll shoved its cotton stuffing back into the hole in its sunken stomach. Its hands, stubs with no fingers, held the fabric together clumsily as it tried to prevent more of its insides from spilling out. It made its way to the stairs, glaring up at their intimidating number. With a frown it hopped, pitching itself up toward the first stair. Holding on, legs and lower body dangling off the side, it shimmied up. It readjusted the stuffing that had shaken loose in its ordeal and prepared to repeat the process twenty-four more times.

* * *

Ib found herself in a blue hallway and followed it down. It ended as another blue hallway ran perpendicular to the it. On each side hung a painting of boulders in water, near identical. However, the right painting depicted normal clear water while the water of the other was a deep red. She shuddered, the implications obvious even to someone as young as her. Going to the right needed no conscious thought. She stepped upon something on the floor and gasped in pain, jumping off of it. It was a red rose. A note lay next to it. _**You and the rose are unified. Know the weight of your own life. **_She cocked her head to the side slightly in confusion. "Unified," she whispered. She didn't know that word but she was sure she had said it correctly. Shrugging the thought off, she bent over to pick up the rose being mindful of the thorns. Its petals were smooth and silky to the touch. Her gaze remained transfixed on the rose as she slowly spun it around in her hands. It was beautiful. Full, bright red petals that came together at a sturdy green stem.

_ **Slam!**_

She jumped as a painting she hadn't noticed before fell to the ground, the rose tumbling out of her grasp. On reflex, her hand darted out, catching it firmly. The thorns stabbed deep into her palm and her grip immediately loosened to reduce the pressure pushing the points into her hand. A single petal fell from the rose. Absently, she placed the rose in her bag as she went to investigate the fallen painting. As she read the message scrawled in black ink on the back of it she knew the actual painting didn't matter. All that mattered was the message. _**When the rose wilts, so too will you rot away. **_Wilts? Rot? There was a tug at the back of her mind, a memory begging to come to the forefront. She knew these words. She understood them. Why? Her concentration was broken as a ticklish feeling ran from her palm down her index finger.

Glancing down, she realized it was blood and remembered she had just cut herself. She was reaching up for the ribbon around her neck with her other hand intent on using it as a bandage when enough blood accumulated at the tip of her finger to form it into a drop that gravity sent falling to the floor. Time slowed as her eyes remained on the drop during its descent. It splashed to the floor, staining it as red as the flower petal it had fallen beside.

And suddenly a memory clicked into place.

_ Blue paint beckoning her to come. A red rose. Her rose. Red paint proclaiming her a thief. A man sprawled out on the floor groaning. A dying blue rose and a light blue vase. A beautiful blue rose __in the man's hand. Garry. Garry explaining his experience with the rose in his hand. Garry offering to teach her any words she didn't know. Pushing statues out of doorways._

Garry. That man in the painting was Garry. She had known that instinctively as she jumped into the painting that took her to this odd gallery. She had known he was important. But now she knew something else with her newly regained memory. He had helped her. He was a friend.

The thought that had gripped her as she entered this warped world blazed through her mind again and she said it aloud, making it tangible. Making it a promise, a vow.

"I'll find you, Garry."

She wasn't running blind anymore. She was going to save a good friend.

* * *

The doll lay looking up at the pink crayon ceiling, resting. Climbing the stairs had been brutal. It turned its head to glance down them. It was a long way down. There were little tufts of cotton every few steps and the doll frowned as it thought of the amount of stuffing it was losing. Managing to keep as much stuffing inside of it after all that work was a great feat, but it didn't negate the fact that it was still losing valuable cotton. Shrugging off the unpleasant thought, it stood. It glanced at the doorway in the back then at something green in the middle of the room. Weighing its choices, it shuffled towards the doorway. It planned on doing both, but it still had its priorities.

Entering, it walked toward the back of the room, ignoring the childish drawings, books, and other dolls littering the floor. It stopped by a pile of ashes that had been there for months now, the only remains of its creator other than the pile of ashes a couple feet away that it had known to be her painting. It shook its head in sympathy and went to a bag in the corner. It was filled with scraps of cloth, cotton stuffing, and a small transparent bag that held pins, needles, and thread. It looked longingly at the needles and thread but took the pins instead. Sewing itself up would have been lovely, but it required the use of fingers, something its creator had never developed the skill to make. It shoved in the pins as carefully as possible, though they still ended up crooked. Before placing the final pin to complete its work, it impulsively took the needle and thread and tucked it inside the hole. The patch job wasn't clean or beautiful, but it would stop it from losing anymore cotton. It turned and left the room, returning to its entryway.

Feeling better, the rag doll made its way to the green object. It was the stem of a rose. A blue rose specifically, it knew. No one would be able to guess with the petals scattered over the floor. Dry, brown, and dead. It picked up the naked stem and slipped it into its dress, using it to hold it secure so it could travel with its arms free. It left the sketchbook behind.

* * *

The little brown-haired girl walked through the gallery with newly found purpose. She had a goal and she was going to achieve it. Her friend needed her! However, even as she walked briskly through the gallery searching, she couldn't get rid of the niggling feeling that last time there had been someone else there with them. She pushed the thought away. She had a task to do. Any other issues she would deal with as they came along.

* * *

A/N: Sorry, I know this is short. But it needed to be done to move the plot along.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

* * *

Chapter 3

Ib sat up and rubbed her eyes. Disoriented, she stretched and glanced around the room anxiously. She tried to remember where she was. The room was a dull grey and tiny. As she looked around her eyes fell upon a portrait that was undeniably familiar. Her parents. Deja vu settled in. Hadn't she seen them that way before? Her eyebrows furrowed in thought. But she was absolutely sure that they didn't have a portrait like that at home. At least, not like _this_. They would never have a portrait done without her. Mind finally catching up with her present, she remembered she was in the gallery. She didn't remember falling asleep. She sat up fully and stared absently down at her knees as she thought about her situation. When had she fallen asleep? The only door in the room opened, unnoticed by her.

"Ib!" a male voice said, shock and relief coloring the tone. "You're awake! How are you?"

Looking up she saw...Garry. The purple hair with black at its roots, the clothes, and the blue rose in his hand just screamed Garry. She had found him? No, rather, it seemed he had found her.

"...I … I had a nightmare," she whispered quietly. Why did she say that? The sleep she had gotten had been dreamless.

"That's too bad," he said, shaking his head in sympathy. "Well, don't worry too much about it. Why don't we get going? We should get out of here as soon as we can."

She nodded and got off the floor. That sounded like a good plan. She was with Garry now. That was the only reason she had come here and now that they were together they could go home. She ignored the slight pinch in her heart signaling that something was wrong. It was probably just the thought of going along with a stranger that made her uncomfortable. Her parents had, after all, taught her to be mindful of strangers. But when she had got off the floor she had felt colder than she thought she should be. And as they left the room her eyes fell to where she had slept, feeling like she something should have been there for her to pick up.

A while after they left the room a thought pervaded her mind. There was something off about Garry. It felt like she should be in front, leading instead of him. He was so calm, navigating the way effortlessly. He _was _the adult though. Adults were supposed to be the caretakers, weren't they? She was being ridiculous. He led her from one area to the next, solving puzzles and getting through obstacles with little difficulty at all. Somehow, the feeling of uneasiness grew stronger. Puzzles this difficult they had needed to work together to solve before, she was sure. She shrugged off the thought. He was bound to have gotten better at them with all the time he had been stuck in the gallery. Still, the feeling that things were going too smoothly didn't go away.

Everything in the gallery was so silent, too. Ib was never very talkative and Garry didn't try to fill up the silence at all. Even without her memory she could feel that he had been the one who talked. He had filled the silence with assurances, to her, to himself. He had spoken optimistically, occasionally seeming to be talking only to comfort himself. This time, she shoved the thought to the back of her mind with annoyance. Of course he was different. Anyone would change after being stuck in a place like this for an extended amount of time. An image of Garry, eyes crazed after being left alone, flashed through her mind. She placed the memory next to the other one she had forced away. This place couldn't make Garry go crazy. He was right there, in front of her! She glanced at his back as he continued to lead. She directed her thoughts away from doubt and to the room hallway around her.

She had been here before she had met up with Garry. They were going back to get a marble she had seen to use as an eye. A painting of a snake had been missing one. Fulfilling this favor would, presumably, open a new path for them. Startled, her walk became brisk and her eyes darted around the room. She had been chased by a mob of _Ladies _here before. Now, they were all in place along the walls, unmoving. Why weren't they attacking? Another image came, unbidden, to her head. A little girl, about her age, with yellow hair and blue eyes was wearing a green dress. Who was she? Enemies hadn't attacked when she was around. Why was that? An important memory was obviously evading Ib's grasp.

Suddenly, Garry stopped. Ib nearly ran right into him. Stepping around him, she noted the glower upon his face. She followed his gaze to a doll on the floor. It was torn and terrifying. Pins were stuck into it haphazardly, obviously an attempt to seal up the hole in its stomach. Above it in yellow paint were the words _**Take me with you.**_ She looked up at Garry questioningly, whose demeanor had soured further. He shook his head and turned away from it, hand taking Ib's wrist and tugging her away. She guessed the doll was dangerous and allowed herself to be pulled along. They had followed the hallway a stretch before they came across the doll again. _**Why are you ignoring me?**_ She wondered absently how it had gotten there before them before dispelling the thought. Things didn't work the same way here.

They continued passed it. It appeared again. _**Do you hate me? **_The little thing already looked so pitiful being broken and Ib almost picked it up. The gallery had tricked her before though and they walked on. She wasn't surprised the next time they came upon it. _**I don't like being alone. **_She could empathize and the guilt began to gnaw at her. Still she walked away. The doll was slumped over when they came upon it again. _**I understand. I wouldn't want me either. **_She winced. She really felt bad for it. But taking it could be a mistake. It seemed like it had slumped further the next time they came to it. _**Thanks for at least reading the messages. Goodbye. **_Ib couldn't stand it anymore. The poor doll looked so miserable. She snatched it up, mindful of the protruding pins before Garry could get a word in.

"We're taking it," she stated with finality.

"Ib, look. It is just a broken toy. Moreover, it is a part of the gallery. It could be dangerous." Garry pointed out. She thought she saw his face contort into a glower directed at herself for a second. But she blinked and when she opened them his face was kind and imploring.

She shook her head adamantly, bringing the doll up to her chest protectively.

"Not everything here is bad," she declared, firmly. "Remember the _Bride _and _Groom_? Or what about _The Fisherman_?"

"We helped the _Bride _and _Groom _get their rings back, so they helped us. They don't help people without something to gain. As for _The Fisherman_, that was just him doing what he was created to do."

"Not true," she argued, desperately. "Remember The Liar's Room? The brown one helped and got torn apart for it."

He floundered. He couldn't dispute that.

"That was the only one painting out of the who-knows-how-many creations in this gallery," he tried to argue back. "What are the chances of anything else in here being good?"

"But what if it is good? We can't just leave it alone. What if it can help us?"

"But—"

She cut him off. "We don't have anything to worry about! I have a lighter! If it really turns out to be bad I can stop it!"

Garry stiffened at the word "lighter."

"A lighter," he repeated softly. He held out his hand. "Give that to me. It's dangerous. It would be better for me to keep it."

She froze, startled by the sudden change of topic. The reasoning was valid, but it felt wrong to part with it. The uneasiness blossomed in her again.

"No," she blurted out.

"No?"

"I'd like to keep it on me. It's... important to me. If we need to burn anything I'll let you do it, I promise."

He seemed displeased but nodded stiffly. She exhaled softly in relief. They finally started to walk again. Suddenly remembering the doll in her arms, she looked down. She smiled reassuringly at it and noticed it's stomach was bulging a bit. Curious, she looked at it more closely, she could see something in it. She whispered an apology as she removed a few pins, allowing the hole to widen. She pulled out the thread, wincing as she felt a prick upon her finger. She sucked on it and soothed it with her tongue before carefully reaching in again. It was a needle. She grinned down at the doll as she made the connection. She spent the next hour sewing up the hole as she continued following Garry's lead. The finished product was a definite improvement though the patch job was noticeable and each of her fingers had taken at least three pricks of the needle.

After making it through the newly revealed pathway Garry stopped abruptly. She thought she saw panic crossing his face but it was gone so quickly she was sure she imagined it. He turned back to her, eyes flicking to the doll for a split second.

"I remember this area," he claimed. "It's full of paintings and sculptures that chased me just the other day. Wait here. I'll go on ahead and get rid of them."

She reluctantly agreed. She sat down and leaned against the wall, placing the doll down beside her. She stared down the hallway they had come from, bored and spacing out. Something soft hit her shoulder and she looked down. The doll had fallen. More importantly, there were words scrawled on the floor in yellow paint in front of it. _**Pay attention when you go down that hall, something is missing.**_

* * *

A/N: Well, there's the third chapter. I enjoyed writing it. Things are finally picking up. I know what I want to happen next but this chapter is running a bit long (and it is incredibly late. I'm tired.).

Until next time, my dear friendlies,

Dfsemina


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

* * *

Chapter 4

She stared down at the words, uncomprehending. Understanding came upon her slowly. The feeling of dread she had been choking down returned full force. She glanced at the door Garry had left from. Looking back at the doll, she found it in a different position. It was upright once again, head tilted upward towards hers. She nodded, showing she understood. It hadn't felt wrong when she had decided to pick up the doll. It _had _felt wrong following Garry. She would trust it, or at least keep its advice in mind.

"Well, I got rid of them. Let's go."

Ib startled to her feet as Garry suddenly appeared at the door. She nodded her consent and he disappeared behind the door again. Gaze falling to the floor, the doll was lying face up, covering the painted message. She picked it up and smeared the message with her foot until it was illegible. Somehow, she didn't think it would be good if Garry read it. She followed after him.

The hallway was clear, just as he said it would be. She followed his quiet figure down the seemingly endless hallway, eyes darting around anxiously. The walls were bare. She should have felt safe with this knowledge, relieved even, but she felt strangely anxious. Clutching the doll tighter against her chest, she remembered its words. _Pay attention. _All she could see was the hallway stretching into the distance, the grey walls dull and empty. Though the situation felt ominous, she did not notice anything wrong.

Later, they finally came to the end of the hallway. Or, rather, it continued, but the remainder was drawn in what looked like pink crayon. It went on and on. It twisted and turned and opened up into a large empty room. There were childish drawings scribbled all over the floor. _Toybox,_ her mind supplied. There weren't any toys here. Maybe that was what was missing? The hallway continued as they went up the crudely drawn stairs. Another flight of stairs appeared as they walked and it led them into a small pink room. The painting that covered the entire back wall struck her as odd. Why would anyone set such a large painting into such a tiny room? This whole area had been in crayon, why was this one painting here? She walked up to it.

It was in a simple wood frame. It completely covered the middle part of the wall, from floor to ceiling. She was sure it would fit better in a room with a higher ceiling. It did not look familiar, though she was sure she had seen every single item in the gallery during her visits. It was a simple painting. The middle depicted a wall of glass, separating two hallways. The one on the left was bright, filled with the white silhouettes of people, all distinct and different from one another. The one on the right was dark, as if all the lights were off but there was just barely enough light to see. There were black silouhettes, just as many as in the other hallway, but they seemed wrong. Each and every one of them were identical. Though they were faced different ways or positioned differently, they looked exactly alike. They were more like outlines than sihouettes. The outline of a human in general rather than anyone specific. They had no features, no noticeable shadow to distinguish hair or clothing, nothing to suggest whether they were male or female. But the most striking part of the painting was the contrast. In the darkened hallway, there kneeled a white silhouette, its position suggesting it was banging upon the glass partition. All-in-all, it was an interesting painting. She looked for the title... and found it was nowhere to be seen. Her eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. Maybe _this _was what was missing? It seemed better than the toy idea. She was about to glance down at the doll still in her arms when she felt an iron grip on her shoulder. She jumped and turned to face Garry.

"We should keep going. What are you looking at?"

He stared at her intently, waiting for an answer.

"I'm not sure. Do you know it's title? I can't find it."

He continued staring at her for a long moment before answering. Without sparing a glance for the painting, he replied, "I've no idea. Let's go."

He gripped her wrist and pulled her along. She followed reluctantly, eyes on the painting until it diappeared behind a corner.

* * *

"Garry?"

"Yeah," he replied, not bothering to turn and look at her.

She blushed, embarrassed. "Is there a restroom I may use nearby?"

He stopped and turned to her, frowning. "Yeah, come on."

He ushered her down a couple of hallways before reaching the bathrooms. She ducked into it, apologizing.

Entering, she closed the door behind herself and leaned against it, drained. She was tired and being with Garry was nerve-racking. She felt like she had to be careful around him. She set the doll down on the table in the corner and, slipping her rose into the blue vase on top of it, went into a stall. When she came out, the doll was hanging from the sharp edge of the table by a thread, new stitches torn open. She quickly washed her hands and went to it, picking it up to inspect it. There was a painted message on the table. _**I have a treasure! Keep it a secret, okay?**_She pulled the doll open further, apologizing as she did so. She sifted through the cotton before her fingers brushed against something solid and thin. She pulled it out. It was a stem. It was dry, had already started to brown. It was bare save for a single tanned, curled-up petal that was only barely attached. She looked up at her rose that sat in the vase and decided to try to coax the dead stem back to health. She placed it into the water and watched.

At first, nothing happened. Then slowly, color began returning to the stem. As it turned into a healthy dark green, the petal began to unfurl itself, flattening into its proper shape before a bright blue seeped into it from the base then spread through to its edges. Other petals emerged from the stem one by one until it became a vibrant dark blue rose. It was fuller then hers, with more petals. It seemed like it was at the prime of its life, blooming beautifully. Her red rose beside it was also beautiful, but it was smaller. It had less petals and though the petals had a slight curl to them, it seemed like hers was just a bud that had only started to bloom. She took it out of the vase and examined it further. Her fingers caressed the petals and she could feel relief settling into her body. This rose was important. With care, she placed the rose back into the doll's body and did a quick patch-up. It was much easier the second time. She smiled at it gratefully. She resolved to take it with her when she left the gallery and have her mother fix it properly.

* * *

In a dark hallway, a young man pushed himself off the floor groggily. There was a soreness to his limbs as if he had been sleeping on a hard surface. Blinking until the haze in his mind cleared, he found that that had been the case. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette and his lighter and sighed as he found neither. Where was he again? He'd just used his last cigarette before he went to the gallery. The last time he had used his lighter was... the lights had gone out... he hadn't been alone... he had called out for someone... a name... Eve?... no... _Ib_. Fully awake now, he remembered everything. He tensed immediately and looked around himself, expecting to see the quiet little girl nearby. Where had she gone?

"Calm down," he scolded himself. "I was a goner. She may have gotten out on her own!"

It certainly fit his image of her. She was a very bright and determined child. Reassured but still worried, he decided to continue down the hallway. A crunch beneath his foot made him pause and he looked down. It was the spot where he'd been sleeping. He stepped back and kneeled to inspect it. He had stepped on a dry leaf. No... He swallowed hard as he realized it wasn't a leaf. It was dried and now crushed by his foot but he knew it had come from his rose. He must have been out for longer than he thought. There was a piece of candy next to where he had slept. He picked it up and smiled. A lemon drop. Ib was so sweet. He wondered if she understood that he'd been dying. He hoped not. The only thing left that he hadn't noticed was the message scrawled on the floor. He shivered, he knew that yellow paint anywhere. He glanced around warily, but didn't see any dolls. He brushed his fingers against the message, fingers coming away clean. It was dry, probably had been for a while. _**Hide and Seek? I'm on the little girl's team! **_He frowned disapprovingly. Mary and her creations always acted like everything was a game. Somehow, he knew the "little girl" it was referring to wasn't Mary. Urgency springing him into action, he ran, hoping to find Ib before it was too late.

He arrived at the stairs at the end of the hallway and found another message. On the first step, it read, _**Follow the leader too? Yay! **_There was another dead rose petal beside it. So that was why he didn't see any others on the way over. He felt sick at seeing the remains of his fading life on the floor but comforted himself in the knowledge that it wasn't Ib's petals scattered over the floor. He found no more messages but he petals were placed sparingly throughout the gallery, leading him. Finally, he came upon another message. _**Somebody's playing Pretend again. It isn't Creator this time. **_He groaned in frustration. Now there was someone else to look out for! The messages had begun to become more frequent.

_**I don't like it! **_

_**Make it go away!**_

_**I **_**like ****_the little girl! I don't want it with us! _**Garry was worried now. Whatever _it _was, it was with her. And judging from the doll's messages, it didn't like Ib.

_**I'm out of petals. **_**Find us now.**

The next message was simply: _**Hurry.**_

* * *

A/N: Well this is finally up! Things are finally moving along! Just saying, creepy as it is, I love that little doll that freaked Garry out. I'm sure you could tell by now.


End file.
